Binary Code
by Amber Entropy
Summary: The tension between R.I.F.T. and the FBI is becoming stronger as the latter attempts to fix Will Caster's damage on the world. For security measures, they can only reduce to computers from the 1970's-but there is a mysterious error code preventing them from working. When 8-year old Elliot and her gift is dragged down into a war between worlds... She may be the only one to stop it.
1. Prologue

Prologue: Elliot-Reina

Elliot-Reina had been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome at a very young age.

It wasn't a typical diagnosis, something that doctors and her paediatricians could describe with ease. No… it was a circumstance that had afflicted her ability to understand social status and—partly—the human language. These were the symptoms of which no one understood—no one could deem your typical little five year old. It was in one's nature to be frightened of something they couldn't control... Something they'd never understand.

This was why Elliot remained quiet.

From a young age, the first time Elliot had been diagnosed... two things had changed drastically for her. The moment she knew she was not normal... abnormal, _different_. Almost... alien. She developed an understanding—a faint one, but one for sure—for the creatures around her, the humans... They shut her out because she was different. Not because of her mental disadvantage, but... because she couldn't speak their language, or understand why they performed such odd social activities. This was one of the first things that had changed her world; that little girls and boys shut her out because of... of...

_Error; code 01000011 01100001 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110101 01101110 01100100 01100101 01110010 01110011 01110100 01100001 01101110 01100100—_

That. That was why.

Elliot wasn't a machine. She was a normal, eight year old girl. In her head, through binary code of divisible-by-8 digits, she tried hard to convince herself that. But she was different... excessively different. She was singled out, even among those who suffered the same mental disability. But, oddly enough, she never really minded that. Perhaps it was better that way.

After all, humans were a lot weirder than machines. They had social morals, limited by laws... unable to exceed their full potential, let alone reach it.

So Elliot grew up, unconcerned with the lives of limited beings, unable to discern their abilities with social life and status.

But her entire world, her world of being shunned by her own people and being perfectly alright with that, turned upside down the day all electricity was lost.

The day when her only friends were fried like a sidewalk on a summer day.

**0100001101101010001010010111010100**

"Why, hello, Rain!" A middle-aged female smiled at Elliot as the child passed her doing odd 'daily routines'. The woman hauled along with her a basket woven of timber and some other material Elliot could not discern. In response to the amiable woman's random greeting, the small child smiled and managed a curt nod. As her small legs carried her away into the collapsed civilization of New York, the woman gazed after her with the utmost concern, as a soft breeze drifted in the scent of an oncoming storm. Sure enough, the woman dully noted, clouds were brewing overhead.

"Was that the code kid? She say anything this time?" Marylin, startled from her thoughts on the weather's future tempest, glanced to her left with dull blue eyes to see her teenage son peering after the indecipherable child. He carried the traits of his father, mostly; dark brown eyes, charcoal black hair—at one look, he could blend into any crowd with his jagged jeans and loose sweater. He gazed at her questionably, reminding her of his inquiry.

"... No. No, she didn't." Marylin admitted. Travis squeezed his mother's hand comfortingly as she continued. "It's like she doesn't even hear me. Or remember me." Marylin gave a sigh, brooding with an unexplainable emotion as she returned her son's comfort. "What an odd child."

"She's eight; her social anxiety will be outgrown. But I'm... not so sure about the binary coding." Travis confided, his freckled nose flaring as the pollen drifted in the wind, causing his allergies to kick up. Once his sneezing fit had finished, he glanced up sheepishly at his mother, wiping the tears from his itchy eyes and added, "I'm going to learn binary, so I can talk to her. She seems so... alone. I wonder where she even lives—if she has any parents."

Marylin gazed down at her son with affectionate eyes. He had grown up to be very dear and compassionate—something quite the opposite of his father, though he carried similar features. "I wonder that too." She confessed quietly. They stood for a moment of silence, watching the small child of their conversation staring at a fried computer monitor in horror. "It's almost like she..." her thoughts trailed away when that kid pursed her lips together so tight that they turned purple, and turned her face from their view as she continued her stroll down the street. "... Has feelings, but just won't show them to... humans."

Travis nodded. "I know what you mean." His eyes slowly wandered to his mother's bundle of laundry, that had been carefully folded and placed within the basket. "Let's get back. Those clothes won't put away themselves!" He playfully tugged at her sleeve, taking a turn down a crossroad and beckoning for her to follow. Marylin grinned and felt her feet creeping after him, but her momentary laughter was interrupted by the roaring thunder, followed by the soft clutter of pattering rain hitting the ground. Soon the sound got heavier—and the woman hurriedly covered the basket with her apron and quickly followed her son, who had begun laughing and chasing the path back to their home.

But as she followed, Marylin couldn't hep but sneak a weary glance back at the child they had been gazing on earlier; as everyone around the code child hurried away to hide from the storm, the kid gazed into the sky, almost forgetting that she was getting soaked to the bone. "What a strange child." Marylin uttered softly, turning tail and trying to outrun the storm.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One: Community Complaint

Elliot seemed to enjoy the rain... the way it pattered, the sounds it made when it hit the rooftops of the various houses along the street she walked. The street, technically speaking, seemed more like a countryside path—no electricity meant no lawnmowers, no new coats of gravel or concrete. Basically, everything had begun to take on a very natural look, allowing the undergrowth to slink into the once-modern city. But in a way, she kind of liked it... it gave the city more of the look it might have had without technology altogether, and it was an interesting outlook.

Regardless, she watched the rain hit into the concrete, feeding the plant life struggling to thrive in the city. Steam rose from the bullets of water that created it, rising into the sky as she watched on with her dull grey eyes. "01000011 01101111 01101111 01101100." ("Cool.") She remarked with a smile. She couldn't understand why people wouldn't like this; it was amazing! Why were they all hiding away in their houses?

At that very moment, a thunderous roar echoed across the sky, causing the little girl to jump with fear. Maybe _that_ was why. Slowly pacing backwards, Elliot turned and bolted off as the sky groaned angrily. Elliot's feet struggled against the thickened paste of mud that had been created from the gushing water, making large leaps and splattering the paste across her forelegs. She couldn't recall the last time she'd been in such a hurry; usually, she was so laid back. She pelted aimlessly across the roads, her eyes quickly fixating on her home—or, rather, automobile. Like quicksilver, she dived into the pale transporting bus that sat at it's station, like it was waiting to be given a direction.

She was spared from her soaking fate, swinging around a handling pole before slamming into a bus seat lazily, glancing out the grimy window and watching the rain drops gently roll down the filthy surface. She gave a relieved sigh to be out of harm's way, opening her mouth to speak in binary code. "_It's so bad out there, G. I got so wet and everything... I mean, that was the awesome part, but then a really loud noise came from the sky. I got so scared..._" Elliot glanced uncertainly at the back of the bus, as if expecting a response from someone. "_G? Are... are you awake, G?_"

A loud, disturbing frequency exploded from the back of the bus. To anyone else hearing, they'd had yelped and covered their ears in a hurry. Elliot, however, winced slightly and leaned away from the sound, her head falling into the back of the seat in front of her. "_Lower the volume, G._" She murmured faintly. Almost instantly, the frequency turned into a soft hum, almost what one could consider gentle. It was at that moment when the small child crept out from her seat to see what her companion was doing, inching to the back of the bus and peeking her head into the last seat, meeting face-to-face with her friend.

A computer—or, laptop, was plopped onto the seat, the monitor facing to her as jumbled binary code was produced on the screen, the message both intriguing her and frightening her. "_Thunder?_" Elliot asked, on the edge of the seat, staring at the monitor intently. "_That's what the sound was?_" She'd never really known what the sound was—but she had come across it every once in a while. It either occurred with or without rain.

As her colourless eyes glanced over her shoulder to watch the heavens in awe, the monitor began to produce a soft hum, the sound gently creating a vibration among the hardware. Her hand, placed on the top of the screen, jerked back with surprise as her neck snapped back to greet a frightening surprise. The computer flickered relentlessly, a wash of green and flashing red, causing Elliot to bolt up right. "_Battery__'s low? B-but..._" A surge of panic and fear, followed by crawled dots of black and red crawled across her vision. Out of worry, her body collapsed into the chair as her trembling fingers began to pry off the shell protecting inward hardware.

"_I can fix this. D-don't worry. I won't let you fry out like the others._" She'd seen decapitated computer screens lying in the streets, and it had made her stomach churn. She supposed humans would react the same way had the victim been human too. But she herself hadn't considered herself anything—just there, genderless, specie-less. Just like G. But she was damned if she let her last friend burn out like a light bulb. Her heart skipped a beat just thinking about it.

G hummed softly, it's voice sounding like the most wonderful thing she'd ever heard. But it's long, soft croon of frequency only made her eyes swell up with tears—not at the sound, but at the words it spoke. "_Gosh, no! Don't leave! Just hold on!_" She cried. The tears were now gushing out like two waterfalls made entirely of saltwater. Her breath was uneven as she clawed off the back of G's protective shell, exposing his vulnerable power supply. From there, her mind blanked out and she stared, shaking like a dead leaf, tears gushing out of her eyes as G's internal battery slowly died out.

And then she was alone again.

Her thoughts snapped. "_No! G! Please!_" Elliot screamed, grabbing hold of it's monitor and shaking it back and forth furiously. "_I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please come back!_" The tears were now overwhelming, staining her face when the rolled down her cheeks. She sobbed, breath shuddering violently when her shaking fingers pulled back, staring at the dead screen with a despair that only one could muster when they had lost someone they truly loved. It was no use. G was lifeless. Dead.

She covered her mouth. It had all happened so quickly. The next thing she knew, Elliot was pacing backwards, her feet making their way gradually to the door of the bus, her throat strained and lumpy. G... It had only been seconds. She had only been in there _for seconds_. _Why did they all keep dying out?! What was she doing wrong?!_

Her knees buckled in and she hit the floor—_hard_. Her pale hands landed, or skidded, along the rough metal-graded floor, causing scrapes and peeled skin along the edge of her palms. The stinging pain, however, did not hurt as much as the defeat of utter failure. She sniffed, bringing her knees up to her chin, steadily rocking herself back and forth while humming shakily. Every breath was a struggle to get in her lungs.

So her only friend was gone. Every single friend she had brought home, taken care of, played with, and spoke to... they all broke down into shards of empty metallic machines. People would tell her to play with girls and boys her age. If she could, she still wouldn't—why waste your time playing weird games and socializing when you could be learning... acting on who you are? She wasn't like the other children; she conceded defeat to that already. But genetically, identically... she_ was human_. A child. The maturity of a child, but pursing different ideals spawned either from her Asperger's or... her... differences.

Her ginger hair tumbled to the sides of her face, the paleness of her eyes softly reflecting that colour. She stared blankly ahead, thoughts bubbling and changing with every minute. Topics ranged from mourning over her lost friend to what she really was—if she'd ever find out.

**011001011111010001010010001010111010101001010100111010010101010100101101**

Special Agent Lucas Rogers was usually assigned to a desk—an office bound data manager, but he did have a degree for criminal justice.

This was _probably_ why he was bizarrely thrown out to investigate an odd case on Beach Street, New York.

Not that he was complaining, of course, as staring at an empty white wall while going through criminal files could be extremely boring. He could just remember how that grimy wall would make him utterly insane and irritable. Nothing but cracks and dirt askew on the once ashen walls... Having a break and being given this benefit to take in some fresh air would be worth it, even if he would be dealing with citizens' reports and a few snide remarks about how the police should have dealt this earlier. Regardless, it would give him much needed practise.

His dark brown eyes narrowed at the side of the trashy streets, undergrowth practically taking over the yards and overgrowing the roads. Garbage cans were filled to the rim, some knocked over and their contents scattered across one end of the road to another. People and their children helped each other, guided each other. Some smaller infants drew on the roads with pastel colours of chalk, older siblings having to learn responsibility earlier to watch and take care of them. In a way, he pitied them, but he himself was in the same situation.

No power, no computers. The authorities were putting all of their effort into trying to reconstruct solar panels enough to be independent power generators—but so far, the energy has been so little that they have only one hour of computer networking before they shut down again. Even then, the computers spewed out gibberish coding, spurting thin green letters and numbers, and it was impossible to decipher what the hell they meant. The behaviour was erratic; on and off, as one would say. One second they would be fully functional—well, not fully, but acceptable—and the next they'd blink out into black screen accompanied by green text and digits.

Only a genius could figure out what it was saying. They'd had to reduce to mere Apple II products from the 1970's, as they weren't accessible through internet—if it was ever reconstructed. But they just couldn't figure out why the damn things didn't work well.

It was when a pale woman approached him, eyes protected by sunglasses that had been cracked severely in one of the lenses. She had an aura that made her uptight, stern and seemed the type to rarely smile. Her dark scarlet hair, bunned up behind her head, seemed to almost bring out her square jaw. Her clothes were a bit more advanced than the people surrounding her—suited up, dress shoes; even a bit of jewelry slung around her neck.

"Excuse me, Agent Lucas," she boldly emerged from her silence, removing her sunglasses for a spare moment to clean them before placing them back on the bridge of her nose. Taken aback, Lucas ran his fingers through his hair, his feet automatically pacing back.

"The hell do you know my name?" He retorted.

She brushed him off, unfazed by his hostility. "Agent Lucas, there has been a disturbance in this community—citizens say that there has been ongoing frequencies coming from a transportation automobile. I think this little disturbance can benefit the FBI and amend their problems."

He raised an eyebrow, still suspicious of her knowledge. "And what _problems_ would those be?" To this, she simply smiled, righting her dress shirt.

"Computer problems, technological disobedience, erratic behaviour... The list could go on, really, but that's not what I'm really here to talk about, Agent Lucas." She said that name smugly, like she had power to hold over him. Lucas felt his eyebrows lower, almost infuriated with this odd woman, but he had to concede defeat; she was definitely right about the company products. To further explain herself, the woman took a step back, hands entwined. "I'll take you to her, if you want."

"Her?" Lucas Rogers was getting more confused by the second.

She smiled once more.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two: With Solutions

Lucas Rogers had been in horrendous situations. Before he was moved into his office, he'd worked as a town officer from Brightwood; it was a small, desolate settlement. Regardless of that, it was infamous for its criminal population and poverty. That being what it was, one would expect that place to be crawling with police—but in actuality, the lack of authority was the reason he chose to go there in the first place. He'd hadn't been there for long, of course, as the stress of being roughed up by criminals had become overwhelming, but he had heard about many... events taking place there after his leave.

That said, he had been in stressful circumstances. He'd grappled with thugs, jailed assaulters; even his own life was put in danger at some point after tailing a couple of crooks.

But above all, however unlikely, this _woman_ really began to unnerve him more than any of that.

Her eyes, dark, seemed like they were brooding enough emotion to create a storm. They were narrowed, reflecting a burden, a type of pain—guilt, maybe, beyond that smug exterior.

But despite that weak core, the part that had him so unnerved was that fiery determination she had for a mask. She wore it like it was an obsession; like whatever she had to do she _must_ do it. One look at that mask would tell the most blind person that she would stride to great lengths in order to achieve whatever goal she held in mind.

This was the reason he had his hand tightly around his gun, rubbing his thumb along the smooth sides as if it would comfort him in any way. If he bailed out, who knew what would happen—what she would do? Lucas wasn't entirely sure what she was capable of—and as an FBI agent, he wasn't necessarily required to find out. Nor did he really want to, for that matter. So he resumed paying attention to their walk, watching her take longer strides across the road and along the blocks—as if she were hurrying, but trying not to make a scene.

He tentatively open his mouth for conversation. "Do you... do this often?" Her dark brown eyes glanced up at him curiously, every ill intention seemingly dissipated temporarily.

"Do what?" She gave him another unnerving grin.

"... Scare people."

At those words, a smirk grew on her lips, curving the corners up into a small smile. "Scaring people." She mused, eyes directed ahead. It was near impossible to determine the activity of her thoughts behind her almost inflamed fortitude, but he caught a glimpse of amusement settled in the peeks of her eyes. It was when this woman turned to him, the mischievous grin playing her lips, that Lucas knew he'd get mocked in little than two seconds. "Why, do I scare you?" She chuckled, her smooth voice almost sending chills down his spine. The Agent tried to suppress it, reassure himself by keeping his hand coiled around his gun, but this stranger still had him unnerved like a game of cat and mouse. He wasn't entirely sure which one of those two he was.

But he did have a gun. "No." He responded, keeping his voice steady. "I just didn't expect to see someone step in like this. Step into… the community disturbance. I almost expected to take this on alone, you know?" However much he masked the slight feeling of dread he got from being near this middle-aged female, Lucas Rogers had a feeling that she'd already sensed his unease. In a way, though, he was grateful that she chose not to expose it. "Do you… work for the FBI? I haven't seen you around before." To his question, her eyes darkened, any trace of mischief dissipated immediately, almost replaced with… He couldn't tell what it was.

"No. Never again." She said it without even the slightest hesitance—no stutter, no waver in her voice. There almost seemed to be some sort of hatred; maybe a loathing in her voice, laced with the slightest edge of betrayal. "I was in the Science and Evolutionary department. Seven years ago. I split to pursue ambitions with my… No, I split to pursue my ambitions. But…" She trailed off, casting him an uncertain look, her thoughts teetering whether she felt she should describe what had transpired all those years ago. Lucas felt his ears perk up with curiosity, any trace of unease vanishing as he heard more of her work. "R.I.F.T. happened."

"R.I.F.T.?" He'd heard of them. They'd become infamous after the world had lost electricity. The FBI had come across them many a time, especially afterward, when they first recovered the Apple II products and constructed their first independent power generator.

The first time word got out about it, Bree had coldly approached them, armed with her accomplices, demanding that they refrain from using the technology that had once destroyed the world. The FBI refused, of course, but faced no immediate consequences—instead, Bree assured them that if they pursued this path, the threats would come at a later date. The authorities assumed the guns were for show—to make a point, as one would say.

The woman's dark, gaunt eyes gazed at him wearily. The gears in her head seemed to be grinding against each other as she fought for words. "I assume you've come across them before?" She fingered her sunglasses edgily, almost perturbed by the sound of the organization's name. Then she smoothed her burgundy hair over with a hand. "R.I.F.T. is... very influential, aren't they?"

He had to agree. Even if they hadn't fatally wounded someone that day, let alone at all, they seemed rather experienced with their weaponry—the way they handled it carefully, like it was a delicacy.

"Yeah," Lucas concurred, eyes narrowing, clearly not fond of being reminded. "Influential."

Their silence resumed awkwardly, eyes fixated ahead, not daring to glance at each other. The roads they crossed were littered with trash and grit askew, the paintjob guiding cars along it now faded into a washed-out gold and ashen. They passed poverty-stricken households, those of which glared at them loathingly at their very presence as they passed. "Tech haters?" He asked her when they were out of earshot. In reply, she shook her head. "Huh." His mind wandered a little, scoping out the possibilities.

After a moment of silence, her voice was barely audible. "They hate what happened to the world. They know the FBI worked with R.I.F.T.'s organization to make it happen. They just... don't know the whole story."

Agent Lucas narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about? Who _are_ you?"

She evaded conflict, stooping away from him, almost out of sight. His brown eyes trailed after her as the woman paused before a public transportation bus, her gaunt eyes taking in the details. On the sides of the bus, advertisement displaying a desolate town blared, "_Brightwood! The perfect vacation spot for you and your family! Rent rooms here today!_" Lucas let the ad sink in. "Looks nice. Sunny, even... I bet it's gotten better with the criminal population." He remarked thoughtfully. Inside, however, his mind was still buzzing with questions. She'd avoided his question almost gracefully. But for what reason? Who was she?

His hand tightened around the smooth black weapon in his pocket as she spoke up. "Nah. I spent some time in Brightwood too. It still needs a bit of improvement." He nodded absent-mindedly, letting the words sink in, before something utterly startled him.

"How the hell did you know I'd been there?" He demanded, feeling almost exposed. She responded bluntly with a smile.

"Lucky guess?" When he seemed unconvinced, she chuckled a little and continued. "Come on, she's inside the bus." She strode forth.

Lucas frowned, his unease prickling back up again as she tried to pry open the once-automatic doors. Her fingers were like spiders, long and thin, struggling with the doors greatly. Finally she turned her head to glare at him expectantly. "A little help, Lucas?" He stared at her uncertainly, lips pursed tightly like he was witnessing a crime as he contemplated giving her his assistance. Noticing his lack of assurance in the situation, she tilted her head to one side questioningly, eyes concerned. "What's the matter?"

He almost stayed quiet, almost managed to refrain himself from demanding the truth hysterically. He'd been with her for ten minutes now, but she knew everything about him, almost every detail. She knew who to look for and what his name was. She even knew what he looked like, and put the name to his face. Like she'd read every fibre of his soul, memory, even went through his files. But it wasn't possible; those files were _classified_. And so he spoke, this time suppressed his dread enough to ask just one thing. "Who the hell are you?" Despite the hostility in those words, he'd asked it quietly, eyes deadpanning into her own.

She was taken aback. "What?"

"I said _who are you. _You know, an introductory would be nice... or I could report you to the FBI." Lucas felt the anger simmering to the very surface as he glared daggers into her face. At the words, she panicked, eyes widening slightly, but she held her breath and tongue bitterly.

She contemplated it, considering her options profoundly and delicately. When she glanced up at him, her lips were sealed tightly together. "Fine," she spat. "My name is Evelyn."

"Evelyn _who_?"

Her eyes narrowed and she turned away bluntly. "Evelyn is all you need to know." Lucas, deciding he couldn't coax any more out of Evelyn, simply conceded that a first name was enough. He strode forward, shouldering past the scarlet-haired woman purposefully, and faced the sealed doors thoughtfully. His coffee bean eyes swapped focus spots with his foot, before glancing back. He paced back a little, just inches really, raised his knee and rammed his foot into the doors violently. As the doors flew back, the way was wide open—and at once, a deafening frequency overwhelmed him.

"Holy crap!" Lucas cried, slamming his hands over his ears and buckling to his knees. The sound buzzed and called out so loud that it wrung every last drop of strength within him out and he fell onto his side. He watched, amazed, as Evelyn brushed past him, clearly unfazed by the irritating noise, and took her way up the stairs and into the automobile. "She must have ears of steel." He muttered to himself, attempting to unroll out of his position without removing his hands from his poor ears. Seconds later, Evelyn said something from within the bus, and the frequency stopped.

Relieved, Lucas rose to his feet, directing his shaking legs towards the staircase and half lifting, half dragging himself up the steps. There were only four, and yet his legs were like jelly the instant he'd reached the top step and looked around. Evelyn was bending down to reach a child's height and was chatting quietly with a pale, unhealthy-looking girl. "Hi, Elliot." She murmured quietly.

This so-called Elliot grinned giddily. "01001000 01101001, 01000101 01010110 01100101." Evelyn felt a smile grace her lips, before glancing back at an astonished Lucas.

"She—she can help us with our computers! She understands binary!" His eyes were wide with awe and wonder, yet also relief at the same time. "Maybe she can communi..." Lucas blinked and sharply stopped himself before he gave anything away. His smile returned however, gazing at both the little girl and Evelyn.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his smart phone, dialling up one of his superiors. "Agent Joseph Tagger? I think we've found a solution to our computer problem..."

_But there were so many more on the way._


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Unappreciated

She took one look at this man, and she knew: Elliot did not like him one bit.

She had no particular reason not to, and that was the odd part. She looked at him, and she saw an alien. She looked at him, and she saw a threat. The way he moved, he spoke, with such diligence that it sent cool shivers crawling down her spine. Lucas was not a particular threat, but to her, and her world, Elliot sensed that he was involved with nothing decent. Her fingers clasped around each other, almost nervously—her pale eyes gazing up at him, through him, almost as if he didn't exist. She failed to make eye contact as part of her disorder, but she had a dreadful feeling about all of this, and found herself hanging around closer to Evelyn more than ever.

"Elliot, this is Agent Lucas Rogers. He's going to take care of you." Evelyn informed the child, watching the pale grey eyes fall to Elliot's bare toes. A sense of unease washed over the small tot, and the middle-aged woman could tell; Elliot began twirling her ginger hair, seeking an odd sense of comfort, while she avoided physical contact. Out of maternal response, Evelyn found herself bringing the small, edgy child in for an embrace, running her fingers through the child's soft fiery hair, jaw pressing just above her head. "It'll be okay, Elliot. Nothing bad will happen." In a way only a child knew, Elliot doubted that, her two-digit wiring exploding in a series of ways to express her fear.

But they remained like that, Elliot's head tucked into the curve of Eve's neck, breathing heavily as her throat began to lump up and her belly became home to a knot of panic. What was going on? She'd just brought home another computer fugitive, a chatty one for sure; how else could one explain the loud, cheerful frequencies ringing around the transportation automobile? But now, her new friend had fallen silent, like a sparrow before the rising of storms, tucked away in the farthest seat in the ashen bus. Almost being as afraid as Elliot was herself, nearly matching the same consistency and tone and level of stress—something only those of computer intelligence could only begin to understand.

In the time being, Lucas Rogers had made many attempts to communicate with Elliot, taken aback when she consistently responded in a series of 0's and 1's. Her eyes were always lowered, lips always pursed—hands always wringing each other out until they were red and purple. Elliot had always behaved this way around humans, sometimes around human-like machinery; she'd come across robots before. But never was she this way around the cool, collected Evelyn, a machine-like human, almost as if this woman understood computer technology more than the human mind could ever hope for. The child had always known Evelyn, as well—before the collapse of electricity, before Elliot had ever really known herself.

Even before Elliot's caretakers had abandoned her for a computer utopia, a rumoured internet paradise; at least, that was how they had described it to the lone child before assuring her quickly that she was old enough to take care for herself. Of course, even the most oddest of children clung to the ones who had raised her—Elliot had cried desperately for them for the next three nights after that, before Evelyn had dropped in to find the home completely desolate. Elliot had ignored her greeting dully, her eyes boring into the blank walls of their apartment, as Evelyn sat herself down and had held the small child in her arms.

It was Evelyn, in fact, who had explained to her that people were afraid of things they didn't understand, that they didn't know how to handle of grapple head-first. That was the first bitter taste of betrayal that Elliot had ever had, and now... Evelyn was setting her up with these strangers that gave her the most dreadful feeling of all. Her head, once buried into the woman's shoulder, suddenly lifted itself away, prying her eyes open and glancing down at her feet. Elliot had been one for tad unpredictability, as part of her disorder as well, but had never realized something until it was too late. And now Elliot was being handed over to this man, who of all people would likely abandon her too.

And she wasn't ready for that. Not again.

"_What are you really doing with me?_" Elliot blurted, the digital communication being the only thing that had caused all of this disaster in the first place. She felt so strongly that something about the situation was amiss, something was off. Her eyes, pale and grey, forcefully flicked to meet Evelyn's gaze for once in her life—because even the most stable platform beneath her was beginning to crumble. Elliot could feel her legs on the verge of buckling in. Dark, hazelnut brown eyes softly glowed with a sense of concern, allowing the binary to sink into her head, calculating, before giving her a ready response.

"You are the rock of two worlds, Elliot. The intersecting point of two different minds. Lucas Rogers will see to your safety." Of course, Evelyn hadn't really informed him about any of this, but it was obvious to event the most dense person on this planet. The minute R.I.F.T. discovers Elliot's talent, all hell would break loose. They'd fight to their very last breath to ensure that the FBI cannot restore their electrical entertainment—the scarlet-haired woman struggled to fathom why, seeing as they relied on the internet for research and diagnosis, symptoms for cancer and sickness. As Will Caster once determined—they weren't very smart.

She wished Lucas could find out, she wished she could tell him. But how could she? There was no easy way to break it to Lucas that if he took in this little girl to the FBI, the R.I.F.T. organization would duly note it. He'd reject Elliot, regardless of her talent, and nothing would go accordingly. Elliot would be exposed to danger, now more than ever, because the likelihood of R.I.F.T.'s eyes fixated on the FBI was nine out of ten. Before long, they'd discover the very reason why the Federal Agents had paid a lowly visit to an old, run-down Brightwood bus. Evelyn would be in a tight spot if she encountered Bree in the future.

And Elliot wouldn't have a damn clue.

If this kid knew just how deep she was in a war of passion and aggression, Evelyn wasn't sure she could take it. Elliot, after all, was heavily more prone to anxiety attacks due to her mental disorder, and would be shaken to her very core if she ever found out what fate had in mind for her. Especially if the opposing organization promoting growth without electricity got their hands on her—Evelyn pursed her lips tightly, evading the colourful, yet distasteful, thought. She had more to do ahead of time—it wouldn't help that she stuck around here to reassure the little girl beside her, no matter how much she felt she needed to.

This is why Evelyn found herself trembling in both shame and concern when she lifted an involuntary child into her arms; setting the unusually light, bony child on the back seats, her hands caressing Elliot's ginger hair. "These people will keep you safe, my little gateway." She whispered to the wavering child, though her own voice failed her. Evelyn shakily looked away, even if for a split second, to gather her thoughts and bite her hesitant tongue. When she gazed back, the child gazed into her lap, eyes avoiding contact as usual. She was afraid, Evelyn acknowledged—even if she didn't want to show it. "They'll make sure that you won't be hurt again." The scarlet haired woman assured her, running her thumb along Elliot's pale cheek.

_Again?_ Elliot's pale eyes widened slightly as she, rarely, raised her stunning eyes to greet the dark hazelnut brown ones that were filled to the rim with uncertainty. She quickly glanced back down, muttering, "_Are you leaving me here? With the strangers?_" This time, it took less than a second for Evelyn to calculate the language and respond with a slow, gradually coaxed nod. As she did so, another couple of agents arrived—both dressed from top to bottom in a jet black suit, Bluetooths stuck in their ears, jaws squarely shaped and eyes hidden by dark glasses. When the child glanced back at Evelyn, the one who had been there and stuck around her entire life, the woman was shaken to the very core of her soul.

"Yes." Her voice wavered almost violently, throat lumped up and strained as Evelyn forced it out. "Yes, I have to leave you here." Her weak heart cringed when Elliot's eyes swelled up with tears, fixated on her suddenly-interesting feet. Evelyn jumped to add quickly, "But it won't be forever, Elliot. I'll see you again, and soon—you aren't doing this alone." Once more, her arms coiled around the small, bony child and held her close, chin pressed against Elliot's soft hair. "You're not doing this alone." Evelyn repeated softly, lips pressed against her head.

Somehow, Elliot doubted this, even when Lucas approached her and took her by her little hand.

Even when she was guided away, stealing a second glance over her shoulder to see the emergency bus door had been shovelled open—and Evelyn emerging from it.

**010101111111110100100101111101000010101010111010101110101101001101110010**

"Who the hell is that?" Bree asked incredulously, squinting through advanced binoculars to see a curt, tall woman emerging from a rot-ridden bus from Brightwood.

The automobile was parked, or rather "emergency stopped", on a curb at the beginning of Temple Lane, a tree lazily splayed over it like it had grown lopsided just for that purpose. Debris and dead leaves were askew, and dust layered the vehicle like it would any other—Bree almost would have missed the activity occurring within it if not for one of her newer recruits.

Said recruit bit his lip, uncertain dark eyes gaunt and unnerved. "I'm not sure." Travis confessed, running a twitching hand through his short, curly hair. "But I don't think she's like the others, and that's the reason I suggest we keep an eye on that, in the slight chance that the FBI constructs a meeting here again."

Bree stole a glance at this kid—a genius in the arts of computer coding and construction of malware, she had to admit. He may have been new to their business, but he had a keen eye and a sense of misgiving and instinct that was hardly inaccurate. For his former suggestion, her pale eyes took in his expression—gaunt, hidden, almost unreadable.

But it was enough to understand that his suspicions about this scarlet-haired woman were strongly influenced by this instinct of his.

Her eyes slowly trailed back to the bus and it's unusual activity, before doubling over as the FBI agents carefully emerged from the vehicle's doors, one holding a small, bony child in his arms. "She could be around seven. Maybe eight?" It was difficult to tell, considering her gaunt appearance was manipulated by the lack of flesh and muscle. Bree felt sick to the stomach just gazing at the small child. "God..." she breathed. Travis, in all the while, bit his tongue anxiously as he leaned in to get a better view—since he was the one at a disadvantage. Bree, without even the slightest glance, chucked the binoculars at him, which he caught gracelessly, causing the corners of her lips to curve up.

The moment he peered through the contraption, Travis pulled back, aghast. "Holy crap!" He gasped silently. "That's—just—_what?_"

Bree flashed him a strange smile. "Look, I know she's a little bony, but hasn't your mother told you it's rude to stare?" Travis, mouth slack and eyes wide, barely acknowledged her remark as his trembling fingers clasped around each other. The smile on her face faded quickly. "Travis?" she prompted, gut clenched with unease. Her blond hair was now being tampered with uncontrollably, her fingers coiled in the golden strays. "Something wrong?"

He merely shook his head, lips pursed once more as he confessed, "That kid... I know that kid, Bree. What do they want with her?" His distant eyes glazed over with confusion. "They won't even understand her. They'd have to be computers."

"Computers..." Bree repeated profoundly, eyes narrowed. "Weren't they having trouble with computers?"

Travis offered a weak smile. "Thanks to yours truly, yes. My dad's an insider—he gives me tours of the... network area."

"And that kid can _understand_ computers?"

"On a basic and advanced level... yeah." Travis nodded, fingering his palms thoughtfully. "I think that might undo our work a little bit, but let's wait and see what happens before we act on it."

Bree grit her teeth together, her pale blue eyes scoring out from above their cover beyond the tinted windows of their vehicle. "I don't like this." She shook her head.

"I don't like this at _all_."


End file.
